


Frostbite

by Suzie_Shooter



Series: Run To Ground [3]
Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Exposure, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spending Christmas with Sabina in a remote cottage, Alex is startled to discover someone is watching the house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frostbite

**Author's Note:**

> Set several months after Gone To Ground.

It was snowing. Alex watched the large, fragile flakes floating past the window, and building up on the sill in a drift of white. He shivered. It wasn't cold - indeed, there was a log fire blazing away merrily in the grate behind him - but the silently settling blanket suddenly put him in mind of a land being slowly suffocated.

He wished he hadn't come here. The longer he spent with Sabina, the more he became convinced they had no future together. She wanted him to be someone he wasn't. Or, perhaps, wasn't any more. But she was bright, and lively, and made him smile. And what was the alternative? Christmas alone? He didn't have a lot of other options.

Somewhere, a door banged, and he could hear Sabina talking cheerfully to the dog. Before she could reach the room he was in, he'd acted on impulse, sliding the sash window up and swinging his legs out over the sill. 

The snow seeped into the seat of his trousers, cold and wet, and he pushed off, dropping the couple of feet to the lawn. Pulled the window down behind him and stepped to the side, out of sight of the inner door. It was getting dark, even though it was only late afternoon. The first stars were visible - lonely pinpricks of light over the blacker line of the pines at the foot of the garden.

He leaned back against the rough stonework, closing his eyes and letting the flakes settle on his face.

They tickled his skin, before melting like cold tears on his cheeks. The sharp air was clearing his head, and a thick woollen jumper meant he wasn't worried by the worst of the frost yet. He heard Sabina calling his name, and didn't answer. Wasn't quite sure why.

Alex wasn't certain how long he stood there, but was starting to get cold. He thrust his hands up inside the sleeves of his jumper, folded across his stomach. Opened his eyes.

And started. 

There, on the opposite side of the lawn, someone was watching him.

Hidden in the shadows under the trees, dressed in black, but unmistakably watching him. Or - the house? Had they actually seen him, standing there against the wall? He thought they had; despite the distance and the dim light, he was convinced whoever it was, was staring straight at him.

Inside, the dog started barking, perhaps having noticed the intruder. Alex heard Sabina's voice, scolding and teasing, oblivious to the warning, and the light spilling out onto the white lawn abruptly cut off as she pulled the curtain across inside.

When Alex looked back at the trees, the figure had gone.

He should walk round to the front door and let himself in. Drink cocoa in front of the fire, play with the dog, laugh with Sabina. It was probably a rambler, or a game keeper, or even a figment of his imagination. It wasn't as if he'd been sleeping well. He was starting to see things, sometimes, out of the corner of his eye. Things that weren't there. People.

Pushed off from the wall, and ran swiftly across the lawn. Feet sinking into the snow, now ankle deep. 

Under the trees the going was easier, but it was darker. There was snow, but only a dusting so far.

Enough, though, to see the footprints. 

No figment, this. 

Without stopping to question what he was doing, Alex found he was following the tracks, deeper under the trees.

The light from the cottage fell away behind, and a cold silence settled around him. The only sounds were his own breathing, and the rustle of his feet through snow covered pine needles.

A branch whipped across his cheek, stinging, and he hardly noticed. Realised he was running now, and hardly sure what to – or from.

There was a slight path between the trees that he'd been following automatically. Looking down to check his trail Alex realised with a shock that the footprints had stopped. Glancing back, all he could see were his own. The mysterious watcher must have stepped off the path – Alex could have run right past him and not noticed. The skin prickled on the back of his neck, and he realised just how vulnerable he was.

Began retracing his steps, hesitantly, a pace at a time. Trying to peer into the impenetrable darkness between the trees, listening for – anything.

Certain, now, that he was being watched.

"Hello?" Alex's voice sounded thin and hesitant, and he winced. "Who's there?" he demanded, more confidently, but nothing but silence came back to him.

"Why were you watching me?" he called into the still air, starting to sound angry.

"What makes you think I was watching _you_?"

The quiet voice came from right behind him and Alex thought his heart would leap right out of his chest. He spun round, the cold air hurting his lungs as he sucked in an alarmed breath, then his foot caught in a tree root and he was falling. 

The breath knocked out of him, he lay stunned in the snow, arm protectively across his face to ward off a blow that didn't come. 

Coughing the air back into his protesting lungs, he looked up at the figure standing over him. Form-fitting black cold weather gear, even down to the gloves. A black ski mask dangling from one hand, and blonde hair pale as the snow. 

"You!" Alex stared, alarmed and yet strangely elated, all at once. 

An amused twist of the mouth, and Yassen took a step forward so that he was standing right over Alex, a foot planted either side of his legs. 

"I'm going to start thinking you're following me, at this rate," he murmured.

Alex gaped. "Me following _you_! What the hell are you doing here? What do you want?"

"From you? Nothing." Yassen shook his head dismissively, and Alex felt an odd disappointment. "I didn't know you were here until I saw you outside the cottage. You have a habit of getting in my way, Alex." 

"Then what _are_ you doing here?" Alex asked, ignoring the unfair implication. 

Yassen didn't answer, just continued looking down at him with a speculative expression. Alex was lying awkwardly in the snow and getting wetter and colder by the second. He tried to wriggle out from under Yassen's legs, and the Russian rolled him back into the snow with a lazy kick. 

"Hey!"

Yassen gave a low laugh. "Why did you follow me out here?" he asked, apparently idly. Alex wasn't fooled.

"I didn't know it was you. I just saw someone watching the house." He scowled. "Let me up."

Yassen considered for a second, then reached down. Alex hesitated, then accepted the hand. He was hauled to his feet, and brushed snow laden hair out of his eyes. Yassen had kept hold of his hand, and Alex felt a creeping heat despite the wet chill soaking into his clothes. 

He shook himself. Yassen was dangerous to be around - in more than one sense. But the rough cloth of the glove was reviving his chilled fingers, and he felt again the curling warmth of something that was equal parts fear and desire in his stomach. 

The last time he'd encountered Yassen he'd been on the edge of exhaustion, strung out and at his mercy. The Russian had both saved him and taken a taxing payment from his body. He'd awoken alone that time, and hadn't seen hide nor hair of Yassen since. 

Alex had never quite come to terms with what had happened between them. Unable to decide if he hated the man for taking such advantage of him, or - or. 

Yassen watched the emotions flickering behind Alex's eyes, wondering which would win out. In Amsterdam, he'd walked out before Alex woke, not wanting either recriminations or, worse, dependency. The boy had to stand on his own two feet. Since, Yassen had - not avoided him, but neither sought him out. Now, it seemed, fate had other ideas.

He'd come to the woods for a rendezvous, in the grounds of a cottage that should have been shut up for the winter. Not banking on a last minute booking, or lights, and dogs, and - Alex.

He could have melted away into the woods. No reason at all for him to have spoken, to have made contact. 

No reason at all.

Alex finally pulled his hand out of Yassen's grip, ran it through his hair, awkward.

"You really didn't know I was here?" 

Yassen shook his head. "The best laid plans can survive everything but coincidence," he sighed, but there was a faint smile on his lips. "The question now is what I do with you."

"What!" Alex looked up in alarm, but Yassen didn't move. 

"Your being here complicates things."

"That's not my fault!" 

"No. But the fact remains."

Alex wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. "I think you're talking rot. I don't know why you're here and I don't care. You just want to - " he tailed off, and Yassen's smirk deepened.

"Want to what?"

Alex stared, caught in a chill of indecision. Yassen looked back, expression unreadable. Alex didn’t _think_ he would hurt him – or worse – but on the other hand if Alex really _had_ blundered into the middle of some covert rendezvous then the Russian was perfectly capable of putting him out of the way if necessary. 

He made up his mind, and keeping his face carefully devoid of his intent, abruptly turned and ran. 

Alex hurtled through the trees, branches whipping at his face, slipping in the snow, no clue as to where he was or where he was going, his only concern to get away from his pursuer.

Eventually he paused, lungs burning, and tried to listen over the sound of his own laboured breathing. Nothing. He frowned, having expected footfalls, cracking twigs, the sound of Yassen hunting him – then realised that once again he'd underestimated the man's skills. After all, a moment ago Yassen had been right next to him and Alex hadn't heard him until he spoke. For all Alex knew, he could be right behind – 

He swung round.

Leaning against a tree, looking almost bored, not even out of breath, the bastard – Alex took all this in in the split second before Yassen straightened up and smiled lazily.

"Hello Alex." He reached out and shoved Alex full in the chest, with deceptive casualness. 

For the second time in five minutes, Alex found himself on his back in the snow. The difference was, this time Yassen followed him down, straddling his legs and pinning him there with the full weight of his body.

About to cry out, Alex realised a wicked looking knife had appeared at his throat, and thought better of it.

"Alex." Yassen's voice was a low murmur, although to Alex's slight relief it didn't sound particularly hostile. In fact, if Alex hadn't known better, he'd have said Yassen sounded more – amused.

"I would like to think that I could trust you to stay out of my way," Yassen continued, "but I think we both know that's unlikely, hmmn?"

"Hey. _You_ followed _me_ ," muttered Alex, painfully conscious of the blade pressing lightly against his skin.

"True." Yassen sighed and flicked the knife shut, stowing it somewhere in his clothes. 

Otherwise, he didn’t move, and Alex was uncomfortably aware of two things – the cold, wet snow saturating his clothing from below, and the fact that Yassen's crotch was pressing against his own.

He had a brief flash of memory – the boat in Amsterdam, Yassen hard and naked, possessing him – the circumstances could hardly have been more different or the setting more uncomfortable, but to Alex's embarrassment and some little shame, he could feel himself getting hard. 

Yassen could hardly fail to be aware of it, but his face gave nothing away. 

It was almost full dark now, under the trees, but the snow seemed to capture what little moonlight there was and reflect it back tenfold. It was as if the land itself was glowing from within, and Alex felt it was if he was watching a dream unfold, unreal, and powerless to influence events. He was in Yassen's control, and to his faint consternation he realised that this didn’t really worry him. 

Not that he imagined he wasn't in any danger – far from it – but for the first time since he'd come away he didn’t have to put on a front. Didn’t have to fake a smile or pretend he was having a good time. For once, nothing was expected of him. Whatever Yassen wanted, he would take. 

And Alex would let him.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked now, only barely interested in the answer.

Yassen studied him, consideringly. He really _didn’t_ have time for distractions, even ones as tempting as Alex. And he knew, on several levels, too much involvement with the boy could only end badly. And yet – he was, despite his blank countenance, painfully aware of Alex's arousal; neither had he failed to note the lack of any resistance, after Alex's initial instinctive struggle.

He'd wondered, when he'd first recognised Alex outside the cottage, what the boy had been doing, had thought at first he'd been hiding from someone. Now, looking down at Alex lying passively beneath him, wondered if he hadn’t been hiding from himself. And what it would take, to provoke a reaction in those hooded eyes, or if Alex really was too far gone, had seen too much, now, to care what happened to him.

What it would take…

Alex wondered dimly how long they'd been here like this – a frozen tableau in a frozen waste. Minutes? Hours? Years?

When he caught the flash of the blade, for a moment he truly believed Yassen meant to end him, and it was almost a relief. He imagined his hot red blood staining the virginal snow, and wondered if that was how perfection looked.

But the knife was cutting, not through flesh but through cloth, sharp beyond measure, and Yassen was slitting from his throat to his groin, until first his jumper, then his t-shirt lay cleaved in two and the icy night air was biting at his skin. His nipples were stiff, hard peaks. From the cold. Perhaps.

The knife had gone, and Yassen was examining his handiwork, critically. 

"I'd've taken them off if you'd asked nicely," Alex murmured, and Yassen laughed, a short bark of genuine amusement. 

"You needed to be laid open," he explained, softly. "And you still do." His hands came to rest on the shoulders of the ruined garments, and he slipped them from Alex's arms, dropping them to one side and laying Alex back almost reverently into the snow.

As the frozen drift touched his bare back, Alex gasped, a single sharp indrawn breath. The cold was biting, painfully so, but it simply increased the sensation of heat in his groin. When Yassen's fingers moved to unfasten his jeans, brushing against the bulge in the cloth, he let the breath out again, in a shaky sigh.

The snow had stopped seeming damp and unpleasant, instead, as his trousers and underwear were taken from him, it was as if a thousand tiny teeth were biting simultaneously at his skin, and a sensation of heat rather than cold was sweeping across his body.

Yassen was back, kneeling over him – it seemed to Alex that he was losing time, that things were coming in flashes, like a strobe. Yassen's hands were under his thighs, lifting him, and Alex realised in a brief moment of clarity just how cold he really was, as Yassen's hot skin came into contact with his own. 

The Russian had unfastened just enough of his own clothing as was necessary. The gloves were gone, and his ski jacket, unzipped, hung down either side of Alex's chest, sheltering him slightly from the worst of the winter wind. The black thermal shirt underneath followed the contours of the Russian's body tightly, chafing against Alex's sensitised nipples as he pressed against him.

He'd unfastened his trousers too, just enough to free his now aching cock, which was sticking out obscenely, pale against the dark clothing. 

Alex groaned quietly, helplessly, as he felt Yassen's cock pressing between his legs, hot and hard, both a threat and a promise.

The Russian leaned further over and for a second Alex thought he was going to kiss him – instead he was startled to feel Yassen's tongue swipe across his cheek. Realised he was licking along the line of blood drawn where the branch had cut him earlier, a brief, wet, probing caress along the scratch-mark.

"Alex." He whispered it almost like a prayer, breath gentle against Alex's throat, hands firm and unforgiving on his hips.

Alex knew this would hurt, knew Yassen was going to take him with no consideration for preparing him, or easing the pain of it. He'd been with no-one else since Yassen had taken him, that first time, months past. 

Knew also, that this was the way he wanted it.

Even though he was expecting it, the pain when it came made him cry out, quickly stifled. Yassen's cock thrust roughly inside him, and for a second Alex thought he couldn’t bear it and struck out blindly with his hands. 

Yassen captured his wrists with silent ease, and forced them above Alex's head, fingers tight against his skin, pressing him harder into the snow. He was moving inside him now, thrusting deeper and deeper into Alex's spasming body. Alex's knees were splayed around Yassen's predatory form, as the Russian pounded into him, possessive, violating, merciless. 

Alex's eyes were closed, his breathing harsh; the cold air had made his throat raw and every breath was like swallowing splinters of ice. The snow beneath him no longer felt cold, and dimly he knew this was a bad sign. A numb warmth was creeping through his body, as if he was lying on cushions, all sensation was centred on the man above him, inside him – inside both his body and his mind. 

The pain had passed, until there was only wave after wave of intense arousal, the dizzying feeling of being filled, fucked, of being taken utterly.

Alex strained against the restricting hold Yassen had on his wrists, and the Russian yielded, perhaps sensing the change in Alex's body, the urgent, eager way he was responding. Alex, freed, wrapped his arms around Yassen's neck, and in turn the Russian slid his hands down Alex's back, cradling him, pulling him down harder onto his cock. This final move finished Alex, and he came with a muffled whimper, face buried in Yassen's shirt, seed splattering hot against his own chilled skin.

Seconds later, Yassen, too, let himself spill over the edge, coming hard into Alex's open and willing body. Complete.

Alex lay drowsily in the snow, vaguely conscious of Yassen standing up, adjusting his clothes, zipping his jacket over the incriminating evidence of Alex's climax. 

For a second he must have blacked right out, because now Yassen was kneeling beside him, smoothing Alex's hair back from his face, whispering to him.

Alex had to force himself to concentrate, to catch the words. 

"You'd better go home Alex. You will die if you stay here like this."

The warning seemed to echo through Alex's mind, until he wasn't sure how long it had been since Yassen left. 

The woods were silent, and dark. It had begun to snow again.

Alex lay naked in the snow drift and wondered how he could be so warm.

Had he dreamt Yassen being there at all? No, he didn't think so.

Had he dreamt the cold lips against his own, before Yassen had melted into the blackness of the trees? Perhaps.

He lay in the snow, and tried to summon the will to get up, to find his ruined clothes.

Or perhaps he only dreamed that he did.

\--


End file.
